


First Impressions

by ProwlingThunder



Series: Boys In Blue [3]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: 1st person pov, Gen, Military, Other, Pre-Slash, Silas is so bristly, Swearing like a Sailor, military brats, pre-game, pre-relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 03:21:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5441576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProwlingThunder/pseuds/ProwlingThunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First impressions make up the basis for life. Silas knows how to make them work for him, but they can be troublesome, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Impressions

It was bad luck to get called into any office for any reason on the first day of anything at all.

Dad had told me that when I was a boy, when I had gotten called to the office at the start of fourth year. I hadn't been _picking_ fights, exactly.. but there had been an altercation, and I had gone to diffuse it, because fighting in the halls was discouraged and a dishonor to the uniform and there had been...

Well. I might have thrown a punch. Or maybe more than one. I was a kid, and it was a long time ago. The only thing I do remember for sure about that day is that they had called in my dad, and I had a headache at the time. Well, and bruised knuckles...

But Dad had said getting called in on the first day could set a trend-- which, of course, back in fourth year it absolutely had, I was in the office every two weeks from then on for one thing or another, and it was positively wretched. I learned, after that, to keep my head ducked the first week, not make any waves or ripples that would set me apart. It had gotten me through adolescence and young adulthood, and it was a trend I hadn't manage to break.

Until I got off the bus at basic training, because of course, why not?

Thing was though, I hadn't even _done_ anything yet.

..well, no. I _had_ stepped off the bus. But I hadn't even gone to get my bags yet, the Chain of Command had been standing there the moment my feet hit the ground, and they had all but marched me to the office, shook me like a misbehaving kitten, and left me standing here, waiting.

They didn't really shake me. They were professionals. It still _left_ me feeling like a misbehaving kitten. I had grown up on bases; Officers had become my safety net and role models, and just because I didn't remember what I had done didn't matter, they never did anything without a reason.

I went over possibilities in my head while I waited for the door to open. There weren't that many. I wasn't a golden child, not by any means; no preacher's son, no angel. Still, you didn't survive getting raised by my dad without knowing what you could get away with and how to do it. And considering he'd been _the_ Reginald King? It was hard to sneak into a house that had been deliberately designed to catch misbehaving teenagers, and by sixteen I had gotten pretty good at either not causing trouble, or not getting caught at it.. By the time I'd finally graduated school, _not causing_ trouble was probably both my worst and best attribute.

I had no idea how _not causing trouble_ could land me in the offices. The longer they made me stand and wait, the more I felt worry nestle in my gut and grow. 

It was a good tactic, and even though I knew it was a tactic designed to cause me unrest, it worked. I was annoyed at myself for letting it, and also annoyed that I was annoyed. They had reasons, truly. I didn't need to know what they were. I waited as patiently as I could, even as the secretary pretended I wasn't there. It was a test of some sort, and it finally ended, pass or fail, after about ten minutes. The secretary stood and opened the door for me, and I thanked her before I moved inside. 

The man behind the desk was maybe my dad's age. Not old, still young enough to be unretired in the world we lived in-- which was a thing my grandfathers didn't have, and something Dad would have been insufferable if he were without. He was graying a bit and there were weathered lines on his face, but his eyes were sharp and pinned me to the spot. Dad gave me that look sometimes, when I was in _trouble_.

I hadn't done anything! I had kept my hands to myself the whole ride, hell, I had _dozed_ the whole ride, I knew to snag my sleep when I could. I hadn't broken anybody's face yet, I hadn't stolen anybody's best girl-- I wouldn't, but men could be so twitchy when their girls talked to me, it was weird-- and I definitely hadn't shown anybody up in PT yet.

I did manage to salute him. I hadn't been raised in a barn. He saluted me back without standing, and I fell back into ease.

“You're Reginald's boy?”

Goddamn. It was never anything good when they used Dad's name. I felt all of four years old and bawling on mom's casket in front of the whole damned world when instructors did that; fragile and terrified, scared and angry all at once, suddenly _Reginald's boy_ , as if Mom hadn't existed.

“Sir, yes, sir!”

He snorted. “Yeah, you're Reginald's.” The man-- the base commander, I guessed-- tapped a manilla file on his desk. It had my name on it.

Meep.

“Didn't think they'd let you in. Graduate with honors, officer training, statute for disciplining subordinates,” the boys back at school hadn't been _subordinates_ the way I thought of subordinates, but they had sure as hell been _insubordinate_ , so I wasn't going to complain with what the file said here. “Demerits for sneaking into the kitchens, the gyms, the swimming pool?”

It wasn't really a question, so I didn't answer, but _oops_?

Okay the swimming pool thing had been entirely not my fault. Johnny Carslile and his friends trying to 'teach' Toby Daimani how to swim by throwing him in the deep end. While he was sleeping. I _might_ have had a disagreement with this teaching method. I _might_ have hid Toby in a locker when the teachers came to find out what the noise was, while Carslile and his friends ran off with their tails tucked.

It might have warranted a trip to the office. Maybe.

I didn't feel guilty about it. I wouldn't feel _bad_ about it at all, except they'd had to call Dad to explain why I was on a week's suspension-- breaking into a locked room, being out after lights out, wearing shoes in the pool, ruining my uniform-- and I hadn't been able to _tell him_ then and there what had really been going on, not without getting Toby in trouble too.

The commander laced his fingers together and looked up at me, frowning. “Dismissing all of that, aren't you Renigald's only brat?” Which had absolutely been the biggest thing I'd had to fight, to get them to stamp my ticket. Jesus, it wasn't like they didn't need all the help they could get, and I deserved to be able to do my part, my family's service history shouldn't have _precluded me from joining_ , fuck. My only saving grace had been my father, and I had no idea how the hell Dad pulled it off. 

It didn't really matter how Dad had done it. What mattered was that I was doing my family proud. Before I had ever tried to sign up, I had told Dad what I was going to do. He had said he supported me.

It was the most important thing he could have given me. More than anything. More than his name.

 _“Okay, son. I support you.”_ Just that, easy and simple. I thought he was even proud of it. He'd certainly looked like he had been, but we hadn't got to talk long then. The next conversation had been about how they wouldn't let me in, because I didn't have any brothers, and Dad had taken it in stride while I had vented.

I _had_ felt guilty about that. I knew Dad had wanted more kids. He had ended up with just me, sullen and stubborn and a bit of a burden to a man who couldn't spend all his time with me. School had been the best thing for our relationship, really. But Dad had said he'd take care of it, and I believed him, so I went back the next week to try again.

Which kind of brought me to here, with the commander frowning at me like I was a particularly annoying puzzle he wouldn't mind lighting on fire. But I didn't answer, because it was a dumb question he already knew-- only people that knew my dad in some form or fashion pinned me with the _Renigald's boy_ embroidery-- and also it would have been on those papers, and he would have _read those already_. I waited instead, quiet, until he sighed and leaned back in his chair.

“I'm not going to lie to you, boy. I don't like it. But all your credentials are good, and I can't shuck an order like this just because it irks me. This training's just a formality for you, but you're going to do it anyway, and if you flunk you're just like any other brat in here and out the door. You hear me?”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

“You're dismissed, get out of my office.”

I saluted him, turned, and marched out, feeling... well, still pretty bad about my prospects. It was bad luck that I was even in here, but the meeting felt somewhat lackluster. Like Luck wasn't finished with me yet. It was weird.

I spent the rest of that day and all of the second waiting for the other shoe to drop, which of course it didn't because, really, why would it? I even made it most of the way through training without real incident, up until about mid evening some months in when Luck threw the other shoe at me, because fucking hell if there wasn't Johnny Carslile and his brood of assholes and one unlucky new recruit, three days off the bus.

Which started a trend. Of saving Private Quinn from shit, and bandaging him, and keeping him out of trouble in general-- _not_ fucking easy, okay? And I thought I gravitated to trouble. 

If it just so happened to dovetail with my _I don't hate you I just have great distaste for you and all you stand for_ habit of saving Carslile's victims, for putting fear into his heart?

Well.. I could kill two birds with one stone here.

Also Quinn was hot. 

Fuck me.


End file.
